by Steve Howell
Anderson glanced towards Megan in the back of the van, who had flinched at Anderson’s lack of tact. So had I.
She looked across at me, eyes watery and even more bloodshot, her expression expectant like she thought her coach ought to have some comment to make, but I had nothing to offer. What could I say? It was taking all the composure I could muster to stay looking calm.
“We have to consider all possibilities,” Anderson said in Megan’s direction, sounding apologetic.
He turned to Blake who’d been deep in conversation with Richards and Simmons.
“We’ve lost all contact with him,” Blake said, realising Anderson expected an update. “He’s not responding to Megan’s calls or texts or answering the land line.”
“I’ll speak to the tech guys,” Anderson said. “I want to see if they can run a probe into the roof space above the office.” Anderson looked at his watch. “I need to brief Gold Command,” he continued. “I’ll be back very soon.”
Richards looked at Megan, checking that she was out of earshot, and then turned to whisper something to Simmons. All I caught were the words ‘Will’s flat’. Simmons nodded and jogged across to a nearby police car, its engine running, the driver ready to show-off his car handling abilities. With a three-point turn, and as many screeches, they were gone, the crowd opening up hurriedly to let them pass through a narrow gap in the barriers.
I looked at my watch. It was nearly two o’clock.
A young woman, with black hair and wearing a navy trouser suit and white blouse, had joined Richards and Blake. She was by far the smartest of any of us. She was holding a clipboard and showing them something pinned to it. Richards pointed in my direction. She took the three or four steps needed to cross our little sweatbox.
“Liam?” she said, ignoring Nigel. “I’m Rhian Williams from the Gwent police press office.”
“You got my message,” I said.
She looked puzzled. I took that as a ‘no’.
“You’ll need to speak to Mimi,” I added. “She looks after this sort of thing.”
“Where is she?”
“In London.”
Rhian looked surprised. “We’ve set up a media room in the community centre round the corner,” she said, giving me a small piece of paper with a number and an email address on it. “That’s how you can get hold of me if you need to.”
Megan had climbed out of the van to join us. “Do we need to do this?” she said irritably, looking down at the couple of sentences typed on plain white paper on Rhian’s clipboard.
It said about as little as you could say without saying anything. There was ‘an incident’ involving firearms in Newport; police were at the scene and a further update would be given at 4pm. There was no mention of Megan, Will or the hostages.
“Sky is already broadcasting an amateur video,” Rhian said. “We’re being inundated. The chief wants something out.”
“Call Mimi,” I said, showing her the number on my phone, wanting to take the decision-making away from this hothouse.
Nigel was stirring next to me. “If you make any statements mentioning Megan, I want to see them as well,” he said.
“And who are you?” Rhian asked.
“I’m Megan’s lawyer,” Nigel replied.
We stood there in an uneasy deadlock for a moment – Megan looking too washed out to argue, Nigel seeming pleased he finally had a point to make (even if it was a pointless one), and Rhian staring at her announcement like it said something profound.
Richards joined us with Blake and another man tagging along.
“Are you done, Rhian?” Richards said, with a go-away tone. She didn’t need any encouraging.
“I’ll phone Ms Jacobs,” she said, keying the number into her phone and walking off with it held to her ear.
Blake looked at us with a weary smile. “This is Ian Beddows, the tactical firearms officer”, he said.
Megan looked at him warily.
“Using force is a last resort,” Blake explained, sensing Megan’s unease, “but we have to find a way of getting Will talking again. Anyone have any bright ideas?”
He sounded like a teacher inviting his class to solve a problem. I didn’t have any ideas at all, bright or otherwise.
Megan was studying her trainers, fingers in her jean pockets, thumbs tapping on the outside. “Graeme…” she mumbled, “why not ask Graeme to try talking some sense into him?”
It didn’t seem a bad suggestion to me – anything was worth trying to break the impasse – but Richards was looking sceptical.
“Not so sure about that one myself,” he said. “Not at all sure. It could make matters worse. There was a lot of antagonism between Matt and Will, especially in the last couple of weeks before he died.”
Megan lifted her head and did a half-turn on her heels, like she was ready to walk off – not that there was anywhere to go.
“How do you know that?” she said, still sideways-on to the circle we’d formed.
“I’ve spoken to a lot of people, Megan, and take it from me, Matt was pretty angry with Will about something.”
“But maybe Will wants to make his peace with Graeme now?” I suggested.
Richards smiled in a smug way, like he thought he knew more about this than we did.
“It’s more likely Will is scared of Graeme – or scared of what he might know,” Richards said. “I doubt he thinks there’s any chance of making his peace with Graeme.”
Megan had a surly look now. Richards seemed to be annoying her. “You’re talking in riddles,” she said.
Blake stepped in. “Look,” he said. “We haven’t got time to get into the finer details of all this. Using Graeme sounds too risky. I want to keep things calm, avoid raising the temperature.”
On the other side of the compound, Anderson was squeezing sideways between the front of the Range Rover and a screen, back from his tête-à-tête with the Gold Commander, whoever that was.
“The probe’s in place,” he said with a triumphant smile. “Blake, let’s see what we can hear.”
The two of them climbed into the van and settled on the bench next to the technician who was fiddling with some buttons and knobs, evidently trying to tune-in to whatever frequency the probe was on.
The rest of us gathered around the back of the vehicle again. Richards and Beddows took up a vantage point that gave them a clear view of the control panel. Megan tucked in next to them, and Nigel and I had to peer over their shoulders as best we could.
The sounds were muffled and disjointed: a door closing; the whirring of a fan; an incomprehensible word or two; a chair scraping; a grunt, like someone was trying to move something. We stood there in complete silence, concentrating on trying to make some sense of the noises.
“Let’s try his mobile again,” Anderson said, sounding frustrated. He looked at Megan and nodded at the empty seat next to him. She stepped up into the van and sat down.
The technician stroked and tapped Megan’s phone. The call sound came up through the speakers in the van and was echoed, via the probe, by the noise of Will’s phone ringing in the gym.
The line went dead.
“Fuck her,” a voice said, picked up faintly by the probe. I had no idea if it was Will or Gary until I saw Megan’s wounded face. She avoided my eyes.
“Try again,” Anderson said, oblivious to any sensitivities, or not caring about them. He had a job to do and there was an urgency in his tone.
The sounds went through the same cycle but this time there was an answer.
“What?” the voice said. No question it was Will this time
Blake nodded at Megan and she began reading from a note he’d given her, making a passable attempt at sounding natural.
“Will, thanks for releasing those people. You did a good thing. You should release Gary now and then we can talk…”
“Ha ha! You sound posh,” Will said, not letting her finish whatever else was on the paper in front of her. “Who wrote that for you Me
g? Police pulling your strings are they?”
Will’s voice had an edge to it, a sharpness towards Megan and a tinge of fear. Megan looked at Blake, raising her eyebrows as if asking for guidance.
Blake leaned into the microphone. “It’s Ryan here,” he said. “Meg’s trying to help you. She doesn’t want anyone to get hurt. It will only make matters worse.”
The phone went dead. Through the probe we could hear a pacing sound and then a door open and close.
Gary shouted, “Where the fuck are you going, you bastard?”
There was no reply. We heard a grinding, metallic sound like a lock turning.
“Fuck you,” Gary said.
The noises were mainly heavy breathing and grunting now, like someone lifting weights too heavy for them. It sounded like Gary was trying to move something or was struggling to free himself.
Blake threw his pen down. Anderson picked up a large sheet of paper folded like a map and began opening it up. From what I could see, it was a plan of the building.
“Miss Tomos,” he said. “Thank you for your assistance. I think I need to take stock of the situation with my officers. If you don’t mind…”
Megan looked from Blake to Richards and realised she was being asked to leave. She stood as near to upright as she could in the van, and put a hand on my shoulder as she stepped down onto the ground. Richards climbed up and took her seat.
Anderson was talking into the mic on his lapel. “Sergeant, take up your positions as agreed and await further orders,” he was saying.
Nigel, Megan and I moved away in silence towards the Range Rover. Looking through it, the crowd was now several rows deep behind the steel barriers. Taller people were peering over the heads of those in the front. There were children on shoulders and phones being held high to take photographs.
Beyond the crowd, I could see the tops of gazebos and vans with aerials and satellite dishes. The media circus had evidently made the short journey from the police headquarters and set up camp at the very end of the road.
Megan seemed defeated. She didn’t like losing at the best of times. I looked from her drawn and grey face back to the van where Anderson was in animated discussion with Blake, Beddows and Richards. I looked at my watch. It was nearly three-thirty now.
***
A young blond woman, hair tied back, looking odd in a sleeveless orange safety jacket over shorts and a T-shirt, arrived with an open cardboard box full of cans and plastic bottles, packed sandwiches, fruit and cereals bars.
“Where do you want this?” she asked with the matter-of-fact tone of someone delivering the catering for an office party.
“On there,” Blake said, pointing towards the back seat of the Range Rover.
The woman dumped the box and smiled at Megan with a nod of recognition, her eyes lingering in the way people do with celebrities, feeling they are entitled to stare.
“Thanks Nia,” Richards said, using his go-away tone again.
Nia flushed and looked awkward, not sure which way to turn to leave. Megan gave her a kind, friendly smile and that seemed to make her day. Megan could be good like that.
Blake was first out of the van to check out the refreshments, and for a few minutes there was an atmosphere of almost festive camaraderie as everyone examined the contents of the box and haggled politely over the sandwiches.
About an hour had passed since Anderson’s pow-wow with Blake, Beddows and Richards. They’d obviously decided to do nothing for the time being. I presumed the calculation was that hunger, boredom, fear or something would make Will realise there was no point holding-out. I wondered if there was a police textbook on this, a step-by-step guide to sieges.
I also wondered what Megan was thinking: what she thought of Will now; whether she thought he would give up. But it was obvious she didn’t want to talk and I left her to pace from screen to screen, while Nigel and I drifted in and out of conversation, making small talk and exchanging uninformed speculation about how the police might handle things, how long their patience would last and whether or not it would make a difference that the only hostage left was a police officer, even if a bent one.
Mimi and I had texted each other a few times. She said the siege was now the ‘breaking’ story on all the news channels. They were broadcasting live from the end of the road. The chief constable had held a press conference. He’d been questioned about Meg and confirmed she was helping the police.
Mimi had contacted Kelli – introducing herself as my ‘colleague’, she said. She had wanted to reassure Danny I was alright. And Kelli was friendly and worried and sent her love. For a second, I felt filled-up, moved by the unexpected idea there were people in the outside world looking out for me.
***
It was probably nearly six o’clock when it happened, but I don’t remember looking at my watch. I must have lost track of time.
Megan’s phone rang in the van. It was Will. He wanted to talk to her.
Blake shouted for Megan who was in the Range Rover. I think she must have been asleep. I couldn’t see her from where I was, standing next to screen, staring across the entrance to gym.
Megan leapt out of the car, took the width of our compound in two strides and jumped into the van. I winced. It wasn’t a routine I’d recommend for an Olympic athlete.
“Will?” she said, speaking before she’d sat down.
Nigel and I had shuffled across and were leaning into the van, listening hard, Richards alongside us. Anderson, Blake and Beddows were sitting with Megan and a new female technician, who had just taken over.
“Megan, I’m in bits,” Will said, desperation in his voice.
“Me too,” she said. “Let’s end this.”
It sounded like Will was pacing. “We think he’s on his own in the gym,” Blake whispered.
Via the probe, Gary could be heard moving around in the office. Beddows frowned at Anderson, as if something was bothering him.
“Sounds like Evans has freed himself,” Anderson said.
Through both channels, we heard what sounded like a lock turning and hinges creaking, and then two thuds in quick succession like bodies hitting the floor. There were grunts and groans and more thuds.
And then complete silence.
Evans’ voice broke it. “You always were a fucking liability,” he said, the menace in his voice so chilling the hairs on my neck reacted instantly.
Beddows was staring hard at Anderson, but the senior man didn’t look back at him.
“What are you going to do, boss?” Beddows asked.
Everyone was looking at Anderson now.
“Will!” Megan screamed suddenly. “Get the fuck out of there. Throw the gun away.”
But she was answered by the piercing, explosive sound of a shot being fired.
We all recoiled as if hit ourselves.
“Intervene. Go to amber. Amber – shot discharged,” Anderson barked, a hand gripping Megan’s shoulder firmly.
Beddows had jumped out of the van and was already beyond the screen, standing watching the entrance to the gym. “Can you confirm, sir?” he said through the radio.
“Yes, confirmed,” Anderson replied. “Go to amber. Implement the plan. Arrest both targets. We don’t know who fired the gun.”
“You heard,” we could hear Beddows telling his team. “Implement. Go. Yes, go. Both targets.”
I had edged towards one of the screens and, pushing up on my toes, I watched four armed officers racing from behind a wall towards the entrance to the gym. One pressed a short, thick shotgun against the door and fired, blowing the lock out. He kicked the door open, and the three other men rushed in past him shouting ‘Police! Police!’ their voices coming over loudly through the radio in the van, and growing louder as the probe picked them up as well.
“Police, police… Put down your weapon. Now! Put it down… Lie down… On the floor. Lie down.”
“Target one injured, sir,” one of the officers reported. “Bleeding badly. Severe chest woun
d.”
“Who’s that? Is that Will?” Megan asked desperately.
Anderson nodded. “What about target two?” he said, through his mic. “Give me a status on target two?”
“Not injured – under arrest, sir,” came the reply.
“Medical attention urgently needed for target one,” someone else added.
“On its way,” Anderson said, his hand on Megan’s shoulder again.
Megan shook herself free. “I want to see Will,” she said, starting to get up.
“Miss Tomos,” Anderson barked, also rising to his feet. “Sit down! You are not leaving this area until I say so. My officers have a job to do.”
“Meg,” I said, stepping towards the van, holding a hand out. “Stand with me. They’ll have Will out in no time.”
Meg looked disorientated like she didn’t know me, but she took my hand and stepped down awkwardly from the van like she’d hit a hurdle and couldn’t keep her balance. I put an arm around her and held her tight at my side as we watched Beddow jogging towards the entrance, radio in one hand, gun in the other.
As he reached it, an ambulance pulled-up and two paramedics jumped out. Beddows held his arm out, telling them to wait. They checked themselves. He spoke into the radio, then nodded. They rushed into the building, one carrying a bag, the other a stretcher.
Blake and Anderson had left the van too and were pushing the screen blocking our view to one side. They started walking towards the ambulances. Anderson was shouting orders and questions into his lapel as he went.
Richards and Nigel joined Megan and me in a line watching the scene barely forty metres ahead of us. Gary Evans appeared through the entrance first, hands cuffed behind his back, two police officers holding an arm each. He seemed to be trying to appear indignant, outraged at his arrest. He stared at Megan, but she returned his gaze until he looked away. The officers pushed him towards a police car that had pulled-up next to the ambulance.
Anderson went into the building, followed by Blake. Megan pressed closer to me, and Richards gave me a concerned glance. Nigel was tapping messages into his phone.
Behind us, from the van, we could still hear some voices via the probe and the radio. But no one was shouting now and it was difficult to tell what people were saying from where we were. I had an urge to go back there to listen, but Megan seemed calmer and I didn’t want to risk her breaking free. So we waited and watched, each second seeming like a minute. The police took Evans away. He threw us a final glare as the car passed. Another police car pulled-up. Finally the paramedics reappeared with Will. He was strapped to their stretcher. They slid him into the ambulance and one of them jumped in with him. The other slammed the rear doors shut and jogged round to the driver’s seat. They were gone in seconds, lights flashing, siren blaring.